Killer Insitinct
by EllaLuvsYa
Summary: What if when Max was kidnapped in MR5 she didn't come back? Three years later, she has seen and done horrible things, become indebted to the US army and has somehow gotten herself an assignment from the president. Now, with the opportunity to see her family again and the small matter of national security to deal with, what will happen? Can the flock accept her back as a killer? FAX
1. Prologue: Brain Explosion

_A/N_

 _Hey guys! This is my new story! It takes place after Max gets kidnapped in MR5 (I like to pretend just on my day to day that everything that happened after MR5 doesn't exist anyway). I hope you like it. Feel free to PM me and send through your honest thoughts. Also, if anyone would like their works Beta read, I am up for the challenge!_

* * *

 **Prologue: Brain Explosion**

I hate winter, I really do.

Actually, I hate all cold weather. As soon as it gets below about 50 degrees, that's it. You can count me out.

The last trip I took to Antarctica, the average temperature whilst I was there was (even though it was summer) 14 degrees (or negative 10 ten degrees Celsius for any of my imperically challenged friends out there). Somehow, I think I am (impossibly) colder now than I was on that trip despite the climate here averaging approximately 12 degrees warmer daily. I am definitely shivering more than I ever did whilst living and working in Antarctica but that is probably due to the fact I was wearing a heavy, insulated a coat whilst residing in the coldest place on earth and right now I'm not wearing anywhere near that many layers.

See, the problem is, is my line of work you need to be able to use the same outfit for a number purposes. Like, right now I'm on a mountain side but tomorrow I could be in the dessert. Luckily for me, the U.S army has a number of handy dandy solutions to this problem and they start and end with cargo pants.

At one time or another, I probably would have been embarrassed at my attire. Especially if any of my Flock were around to see me. However, I had long since gotten over not having the simple luxury's I once had ie. being able to wear such very impractical clothing as jeans and a windbreaker. Ironically, at the time, I had not thought of such items as having been "luxury". Far from it really. One of my girls, Nudge, who had always loved fashion, had told me almost daily back then how much better I would look with the simple addition of some even more impractical clothing items such as a "super cute skirt," as she put it.

At this point in my life, "wearing a skirt" is almost as ludicrous as seeing five porcupines dressed up and arranged in formation as miniature Power Rangers.

I dug deeper into my icy bunker, pushing more snow to the side of me in order to break as much of the bone-chilling wind, which blew across the mountain side and allowed shards of ice to scratch my cheeks, as possible. Couldn't these people have decided to hide out somewhere more…. sunny? Like a nice seaside shalé in Barcelona perhaps. Or a beach house in Hampton's. Or any place that is not a secluded alpine shack in New Zealand.

This is my first time traveling here (if you can really call this traveling) but I have visited New Zealand's neighbor, Australia, quite a few times in the last 3 years. The people I have to "visit" often enjoy holidaying in particularly remote places and the Australian outback is pretty darn remote. Not to mention there's a lot of it. Thousands of miles of red, flat earth with only a few kangaroos and snakes to keep you company while you search- I mean, travel across it.

At least it's warm, though.

I can feel the beginnings of frostbite nipping at my toes. Even for genetically enhanced beings like myself, you have to be careful of conditions such as hyperthermia which would no doubt be approaching a Code: Red problem for me after a few more minutes hunkered down low in the snow.

Unluckily, unlike ski slopes elsewhere in the world, New Zealand's snow-capped mountains are completely devoid of trees and other shrubbery which could act as a shield to block my host's view of me while I prepare for my "visit". Luckily for me, the radio shack that ex-marines Mathew and Corey Bachelor have chosen as their holiday home has large windows in order to view the advanced snowboarding course below during the day and allowing my inhuman vision to be able to track the brothers perfectly without employing the use of binoculars.

I snapped a close range periscope onto the eyepiece of my AK 47 assault rifle and situated it upon its tripod stand. I was finally prepared. The dug out of snow I had made hopefully camouflaged me reasonably well. Two more minutes and then I've taken the shot and flown somewhere with a sunnier outlook and a shower. I breathed deeply and pressed my eye to the viewfinder. I located the two again easily. Mathew was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed while Corey flipped a coin absentmindedly near him. It must be mind-numbingly boring, up here, all alone, just waiting to die (or for someone to _try_ killing you, at least).

I took the safety off my gun. I hated these "visits" (probably not as much as my hosts, though, if you know what I mean). A few years ago, I would never have imagined that I'd be lining Mathew Bachelor up to shoot him through the brain.

Then again, I never would have imagined that I'd be murdering people full stop.

 _No, Max!_ I scolded myself. _Don't think of it as murder!_ My finger shook as it hovered over the trigger. _It is not murder, it's... Defeating the baddies. Yeah. These are two really bad dudes. Yep. Two bad dudes who deserve to be shot and killed... Even though you're not even sure what they did was bad... Because you don't know they did… Because no one will tell you what they did and as far as you know they could be decent, charity donating hardworking Americans._

Mmmm, I'm very convincing.

I took a deep breath in and puffed out a cloud as I exhaled. This isn't some sort of moral decision; it's my job. It doesn't matter what these guys have done. All that matters is that they've pissed off the wrong person and have ended up next in line for a barge ride across the river Styx and that it's my job to put them on the boat.

My finger steadied on the trigger and I zeroed in on Mathe- I mean, _my target_ (this is all very spy mission-y, isn't it?). I just need to breathe and disassociate myself. That's what they always tell you in training.

Oh, if the Flock could see me now. What would they think? Their brave leader, always sprouting of bullshit about doing the right thing, literally about to kill someone in cold blood.

I closed my eyes and opened them again. _I am doing this for them,_ I thought. Plus, it isn't like I'm new to this. I've done this a hundred of times before (or something like that, it's not like I keep a list). I put pressure on the trigger lightly to steady my hands. Finally, I was completely prepared.

I compressed the trigger fully and braced for the kick back from the shot. It was silent for a few milliseconds, the silencer on my rifle preventing the shot from echoing out around the mountains, and then the window exploded _and so did Mathew Bachelor's skull_.

His brain decorated the cabin walls behind his body, like gory tribute to the man now staring blankly in the direction of his brother.

It was mildly disturbing.

Corey jumped to his feet, shocked. He stared at the blown out brain matter now slowly slipping down the wall. I knew he couldn't really believe that all of that blood at bone had moments ago been contained in his brother's skull just from the way his eyes widened. Corey stared at Mathew next, taking in the image of his dead sibling. The picture of utter incomprehension and sadness painted on his face made my stomach flip uncomfortably.

See, it's not like I don't have a conscience.

The heartbroken brother slowly turned his gaze toward the window and then fanned it out across the snowy dunes in the approximate direction of where the shot had come from. I lined up my next bullet with his turned temple and pressed the gun's trigger again. This time, however, the bullet missed its mark. Corey had taken a step back which meant the bullet had grazed him but that he was otherwise fine. He hadn't spotted me but, instinctually, he knew that the bullet was coming for him and had been able to dodge out of the way in time.

Blood, slowly dripping down Corey's hard face, mesmerized me as I watched him. In what seemed like slow motion, small streams of red liquid flowed down the valley's in his lined face toward his pale neckline. He shook his head, and the dark droplets went flying off of his cheeks. When he began to move in the direction of the door I snapped back to reality. Everything sped up considerably as my third bullet was released from the chamber, this one striking the side of Corey's head and penetrating the bone.

Corey Bachelor dropped to the floor, dead and I, Maximum Ride, had killed him.

Oh well, shit happens.

* * *

After checking that Mathew and Corey were really dead (Gross, I hated getting blood on my boots) I had flown down to a nearby town and had rented a room at a pretty stingy ski hotel. I flopped onto the bed, happy to be somewhere with heating. The sun had set whilst I was flying and it had begun to snow before I landed. My cargo pants were slightly damp as a result but I honestly couldn't be bothered to change them and so just lay on my back, not doing anything for about half an hour. I was so tired but knew I couldn't sleep yet. Finally, I found the energy to pull my phone from my many pockets and call HQ.

"Maximum, finally!" General Starvish (who unfortunately does not pronounce his name like star _fish_ ) drawled. "How did it go? Are they _taken care of_?"

I shuddered at his wording. "They're not living, if that's what you mean."

The General chuckled, "Of course. Well done. They do call you the best."

"Yeah." _Yep_ , _thanks for that awesome compliment. I love being great at tracking people down and killing them. I have no choice but to be the best but thanks again... Jerk._

"You took your sweet time, though."

I frowned, "I had to fly to New Zealand."

Starvish hummed. "That may be true, but this assignment still took longer than you're last three missions combined."

I sighed audibly, "I know." I played with the tassels on one the stained pillow near my head absentmindedly. "So what bullshit mission will you have me on next? Slaughter a kangaroo and mail you the tail?"

The line was silent and then, deathly quietly, the General responded, "You will not address your superior in such a crass manner Soldier." I rolled my eyes. See, here's the thing about the US army: they love drama. "Your next assignment," The General went on authoritatively, "Will take place back home."

I raised an eyebrow. For the last two years, I have been kept as far as physically possible away from American soil. It's kind of a long story, but basically, I owe the government a….. debt (yeah, let's call it a debt) and for the last 2 years I have been paying off this debt.

"Home, Sir?" I questioned.

"Yes, we believe it's about time you come back to the States. You will receive further instruction when you arrive at Fort Hunter."

The call ended.

I stared blankly at the screen of my phone. _Home_. I haven't had a home in a long time. Does this mean I'll be staying in one place for a while? Or is there just some army rule about having your operatives come back to base for routine training every two years or something like that.

I sat up suddenly. A thought had struck me. _Did this mean I get to see the flock again?_

* * *

 _A/N2_

 _REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW  
_

 _~El_


	2. Chapter 1: Protocol Wedgie

_A/N:_

 _Hey folks! I'd just like to say a quick thank you to everyone who reviewed. Shutouts to LydsLife, Gazza, BaconBabe77, Iamthebestwriter, cryinginagony annnnnd the other unnamed guest!_

 _Since I have already written a considerable amount of this story I will be posting often for the next few weeks (A big shock for most of you who know me, I know). I will be more motivated to update sooner with reviews though ;)_

 _Disclaimer (I forgot to do this before, oops): All MR characters and plots belong to JP (the great and almighty creator of the series)._

 _Claimer: All the stuff that comes out of my brain through my fingers and onto your screen is mine and I take full credit for it (even if it's stupid, which is often the case)._

 _Happy reading!_

* * *

Chapter 1: Protocol Wedgie

Fort Hunter Ligget is a combat support training facility. It says that on the big sign out the front. What it doesn't say on the sign is that the whole place is BLAND.

Everything (and I mean literally everything) is _green_. Not a "living and thriving" green, though, more like a "dead, dying and sick" green. Someone probably thought that by painting every building the colour of grass camouflaged the base (and it probably works for someone who doesn't have genetically enhanced vision) but, frankly, from the air it just looks like a giant person had a wicked hangover after having one too many tequila shots the night before and uncontrollably vomited on every surface in sight.

I hate barf green almost as much as I hate the cold.

I landed heavily on the roof of the outer watch tower and tucked my wings away. A guy stuck his head out of the window typically used to speak with drivers of army vehicles entering the base camp and turned to look upwards at me.

"That was one hell of a bang." He said up to me with a distinctly southern accent.

I smirked down at him then crouched to be closer to his level. "Problem?" I asked.

"Well, usually people knock on the front door and not give me a gigantic heart attack by jumping on the roof. How'd you get up there anyway?"

I rolled my eyes but didn't respond. I jumped lightly down onto the concrete driveway and leaned against the window frame. "I'm here to see General Starfish- I mean, Star _vish_. I thought I'd be nice and let you guys know I was here before I walked in."

The guy frowned. He was every typical army cadet ever. His uniform was perfectly in place (you know, in case he needed to kiss the butt of someone important today) and his sandy hair was shaved close to his head. "Every person wishing to enter Fort Hunter Ligget is required to sign in here and–"

"And perform other bullshitty protocol nobody cares about." I blew a piece of hair out of my face. "Sorry, buddy but those sorts of rules don't usually apply to me. What's your name?"

The Private looked me up and down skeptically. "Shouldn't I really be asking you that–"

I cut him off neatly by raising my hand and introducing myself, "Staff Sargent Maximum Ride, returning from assignment." I pretended to tip an invisible hat at the soldier, "Pleasure to meet you."

The Private's eyes grew comically large and he quickly snapped to attention. "P-P-Private Luke Connell Ma'am. I've heard about you." His mouth flat-lined, "I apologize for my insubordination, Sargent!"

I threw my head back, "Argh. Please don't do that."

The Private, his hand still saluting me by his forehead, blinked stupidly. "What?"

"Please don't act a total ninny. Drop your hand and be a regular human being, Jesus." He did, looking confused. "Okay, great! Now, I'm going inside and you are going to stay here and continue doing what you've been doing. Cool?" I didn't wait for him to reply as I snapped my wings out and jumped vertically into flight. I looked down to see Private Connell gaping, open-mouthed out of the watchtower window. I laughed a little to myself.

As I approached the little grouping of buildings further inside the camp I noticed two people waving me down. I figured that Private Whatever-his-name-was had called ahead for me and that these people, shielding their faces from the blinding Californian sun as they gazed up at me, were my escorts. I glided lower and snapped in my wings when I was low enough to drop down to the earth safely.

The pair consisted a man and a woman both dressed similarly in field uniforms of camouflage print. However, while the women wore an impressed expression, the man's hard eyes glared ahead of him.

"Sargent Ride," The women greeted, saluting and smiling broadly. I tapped my head and flicked my fingers condescendingly in return. "I'm Sargent Major Brown and this," She indicated the stone-faced man beside her, "is Corporal Hamsmith. How was your journey?"

I crossed my arms, "Fine."

Sargent Brown's smile didn't falter, "Great! The General will see you soon. In the meantime, we figured you'd appreciate freshening up a little." She beckoned me with her outstretched arm to walk ahead of her towards one of the buildings. I did, arms still crossed.

Sargent Brown directed me to a shower house and handed me a bag I hadn't noticed she was carrying. She looked about to say something, but I pushed into one of the shower stalls and ended any possible conversation. Knowing that Starfish seeing me "soon" would most likely not be anytime soon, I took my sweet time showering and washing the grit out of my hair with some of the shampoo that was in the bag Brown had presented me with.

When I had toweled off I inspected the clothing they had given me. I pulled a face when I saw pantyhose. The regular uniform I was forced into was bad enough, but the mandatory service dress uniform was a thousand times worst. I tried not to scream when I saw that they had even included the small, black, _heels_ which completed the outfit. I took a deep, controlled breath and forced myself to start putting on the black skirt and tucked in the white shirt. Someone had taken the liberty of embroidering my name and rank above the pocket. Wow, how goddamn considerate.

Once I had pantyhosed up, I stuffed my old gear back into the bag and slammed open the shower stall door, unimpressed at my new attire. Brown smiled even wider at me when I exited while Corporal Hamsmith inspected his shoes critically. "Lovely! Now, we'll just tie your hair back and you're all ready to meet with General Starvish!"

I raised my eyebrows, "I'm wearing a _skirt_ for you people! _No way_ are you yanking my hair into one of those disgusting buns." I said, gesturing to Brown's own hairstyle. Brown frowned and touched her bun self-consciously while the ever-silent Hamsmith scowled more deeply.

"I'm sur–" Brown started but I held up my hand.

" _No way,"_ I repeated vehemently.

Brown looked ready to argue but it was (very surprisingly) Hamsmith who replied gruffly, "Let's just take her to the General." With that, he turned on his heel, hands still clasped behind his back and walked away. I followed, not waiting for the still frozen Brown.

When we reached Starfish's office, Hamsmith knocked. Brown smiled, slightly tighter, at me and opened the door. As I passed her, she whispered to me to stand tall.

Pffft. Like I need advice on how to carry myself.

Hamsmith nodded at me as I crossed the threshold and shut the door behind me.

The General was situated in a high back chair facing the wall away from me, his back turned. It was silent. I waited for him to speak, arms crossed. When it was silent still more, I unfolded my arms and picked out the wedgie I was getting from my new undergarments.

Finally, the General said, "Welcome back, Maximum." He spun in his chair to face me. I took in his shocking red hair, streaked with gray and his stern expression. He stared at me silently for a second before saying, "I have your new mission."

I raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. Very, very deep down I was I disappointed. I had been hoping to have some time off to spy on my– _the_ Flock.

 _They aren't yours anymore, Max_ , I reminded myself.

The general leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his desk with his hands clasped. The one thing that I've always like about Starvish is that he gets to the point. He took me in and then spoke, emphasizing each of his words, "Have you ever heard of a man called Nicholas Ride?"

* * *

 _A/N2:_

 _REVIEW AND I WILL UPDATE! Please tell me your thoughts._

 _~El_


	3. Chapter 2: Porcelain Conversation

_A/N:_

 _Thanks to everyone who reviewed: BaconBabe77, LydsLife, Gazza, Iamthebestwriter and my few guests. Special thanks must go to chronicyouth.2002 for such lovely compliments! You truly made my day!_

 _Happy reading!_

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Porcelain Conversation**

"Ugghhh." I moaned then leaned over the toilet rim again, retching once more. The white porcelain inside had been painted a disgusting, mushy green (a near match to that of the army bases exterior paint job actually) and wafted a putrid stench upwards. I honestly couldn't remember what or when my last meal had been (in New Zealand maybe) but I was pretty sure that it had not included carrot. Yet, I could clearly see little orange pieces floating around in my puke. Why was that? Why did vomit always seem to have carrot in it?

I leaned back on my heels and attempted to pull my hair out of my face. Only now did I wish that I had wrestled my hair up into one of those silly army grade buns, as Sargent Brown had suggested. At least if I had, my brown/blonde locks would have been safe from escapee puke flecks. I flushed the toilet, grimacing at the sight of my stomach contents draining down the sewage pipes and flopped sideways on my butt. I rested my head on the toilet stall wall resignedly. Tears that had welled up in my eyes as I heaved were finally released down my cheeks in a torrent. I've always despised crying and would usually do everything in my power to prevent the salty water from escaping my tear ducts, but, couched on the tiled floor pathetically, I couldn't seem to find the energy.

I just couldn't believe it. It was all so confusing and backward and strange and…. And… Just wrong. I had spent my entire life trying to protect the people I loved and now... My stomach flipped but I steadied my breathing and didn't barf again. As I continued to sit, sobbing uncontrollably and trying not to vomit, I thought back to the exchange I had with General Starvish just minutes ago.

 _"_ _Have you ever heard of a man called Nicholas Ride?"_

 _My blood turned cold. That was the fake name that I had given to HIM all those years ago in a Washington hospital. It couldn't be him, it couldn't. It's a coincidence, that's all._

 _"_ _Nope. Never heard of him." I said, controlling my voice from climbing several octaves by talking not much louder than a whisper and keeping my face impassive._

 _General Starvish narrowed his eyes and evaluated me carefully, arms still clasped on the table in front of him. "Mmm." He hummed after the pause, "Well, he is the co-creator of a quite successful online blogging community."_

 _My breath stopped in my throat uncomfortably. Suddenly, this was sounding less and less like a coincidence._

 _"_ _The website – Tumble Weed – or something silly like that has recently been linked to a quite violent terror organization. Ride appears to be harmless. All we have been able to gather is that he is currently raising his orphaned siblings and–"_

 _Starvish_ _stopped suddenly and stared at my hands which were twisted in my skirt, nearly tearing the fabric. "Everything okay, Sargent?" He questioned. I untwisted my hands and let them hang limply by my sides._

 _"_ _Yes, Sir." I forced myself to respond reasonably. "Go on."_

 _He looked at me suspiciously, but continued, "And he seems to check out. However, we cannot ignore the situation and we cannot proceed in apprehending Ride until we know for certain that he is affiliated with terrorist movements which may threaten the safety of American citizens. Furthermore, we want to know exactly what they are planning to catch them in the act and end them once and for all." Starvish paused to unclasp his hands and lay them on the desk. He sat up straight, sticking out his chest importantly. "The President_ _has_ personally _asked me to send in my best soldier to uncover the truth of situation and to…._ detain _the person responsible."_

 _My stomach bubbled. I felt immensely sick. I wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and never talk to anyone again but I knew that I couldn't show weakness, not straight to the General's face. "And your best soldier would be me, sir?" I asked, attempting to sound like myself but my words came out forced. "I'm flattered."_

 _The General huffed out a laugh, apparently not noticing my… offness. "I cannot tell you how to proceed Ride….. Interesting, I hadn't realized that your surname was the same as the man in question... What a coincidence! Anyway, I'll leave it up to you on how you intend to gain access to the Mr. Ride's inner circle and support you in any way necessary. A car will take you into San Francisco at oh eight hundred hours tomorrow."_

 _I nodded, thinking that if I was to open my mouth I would likely throw up._

 _The General nodded in return. "Dismissed." He said, waving a hand at me and swiveling back around in his chair to gaze out the window at the setting sun._

 _Silently, I turned on my heel, opened the door and walked calmly out of the room, leaving Starvish alone. Almost as soon as I had closed the door behind me, I sprinted down the hallway and back to the bathhouse to find a toilet I could puke up into…_

Which I had just finished doing.

Just thinking about the whole thing made me want to chuck my cookies again but I didn't. Eventually, once I had finished crying, I stood shakily in my heels (why, oh, why was I forced to walk in these death traps), left the stall door to bang shut behind me and washed my mouth out at one the sinks. I avoided looking at myself in the mirror, not wanting to see an officer's uniform with me shoved into it. Finally, I exited the bathroom to find Sargent Brown sitting on a nearby bench flipping through a manila folder.

I sighed and walked over to stand awkwardly in front of her. When she didn't look up, I figured that she didn't hear me approach and so, in a cracking voice, I said, "Hey."

She jumped almost a foot in the air and clamped a hand over her mouth in surprise. She clambered to shut the folder which had fallen open onto the bench beside her but clumsily knocked it onto the ground in her haste. Once she had scampered to pick it back up again, Brown looked up. She laughed when she realized it was only me and dropped her hand from her mouth where it hadn't moved from, seemingly frozen there.

"Jesus! You almost gave me a heart attack–" She stopped abruptly and stared at me worriedly. I raised an eyebrow at her. "…..Are you okay?" She asked hesitantly. It was then that I remembered I hadn't checked my reflection before leaving the toilets. My eyes must have been seriously red and puffy from all the overzealous sobbing I had participated in.

"I'm fine." I lied, deciding I honestly I couldn't bring myself to care that I looked like hell at the moment. "I just wanted to know if there was anywhere around here that I could crash for the night."

Sargent Brown still looked worried but didn't comment further. She stood and told me that the living quarters were across campus and that she'd take me there now. I nodded and motioned for her to lead the way.

We walked in silence most of the way. Then, when we were nearing yet another green building, "I have your briefing for tomorrow," Brown said conversationally, waving the manila folder. "Did you want to have a look at it tonight?"

I nodded and took the file. I really didn't want to talk right now. "Okay, great. I'll see you tomorrow morning! I'll have someone bring you a tray from the mess hall after supper." Then, very seriously, she grabbed both of my shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes. I was forced to gaze into her pale green irises as she held me. "It's going to be okay." She said. With no warning she leaned in and hugged me, making me feel even more uncomfortable than I already was. I stood awkwardly in her embrace. Finally, she detached herself from me, her mousy brown bun bumping my nose in the process. Then, just as unexpectedly as she had hugged me, she disappeared. Stunned, I stood in front of my room staring at the place Brown had been for probably five minutes before heading inside.

What the hell is wrong with these people? Jesus.

My dinner had arrived whilst I was reading over the briefing Brown had given to me. I ate, cross-legged on my cramped single bed, still in my skin tight black skirt. Prawn cracker crumbs trampolined off the taught material across my knees.

I flicked through the files carefully. Ordinarily, I didn't receive a briefing. I was typically provided with simply a name and a last seen location and the understanding that I make whoever the government was after as dead as possible before requesting a new name. I had, on one other occasion, conducted an operation with a number of other soldiers under my command where I had received a briefing folder, similar to this one, but that mission had been at least a year ago now.

The folder in question contained a map of the San Francisco area with circles drawn around relevant areas (ie. Nicholas Ride's office and the location of his sibling's schools). Other documents describing Nicholas's approximate daily schedule and appearance were also archived in the folder as well as evidence of his alleged terrorist activity.

As it turned out, Nicholas had 4 siblings, of which he had sole custardy (ages 9, 11, 15 and 18). He himself was 18 with dark hair and equally dark eyes.

I had tried my best to deny it, brush off all the markers as coincidence, but, when I reached the pictures taken of him and his family on surveillance equipment, I couldn't continue denying it.

Nicholas Ride was the one person I have dreaded seeing and the boy that I have missed the most these last few years. I had given him the _fake_ name scribbled on the papers in front of me and, on top of that, his real name as well, at a facility called the school located in Death Valley.

Tears, that had begun welling up in my eyes as I stared at the photos, threatened to spill out. Staring back at me through the photos was a very grown-up version of the boy I had once loved and cared for. He looked nearly the same as I remembered; dark, shaggy hair falling into his eyes, olive tone skin, slight but muscular build. My fingers stretched out to comb down the side of my face, but I stopped myself. I wanted to throw the files as far away from me as possible, grab my stuff and run away to a place where nobody knows me and the government can't find me.

It was _HIM_.

Not only that but the "siblings" for which he cared, were, undeniably, my ex-family, the Flock. All five of them. Living and (apparently) thriving in the city of San Francisco.

And _Nicholas Ride_ , apparent terrorist organization fraterniser, the person I was directed to (by the President, may I add) watch over and maybe "detain" (which I doubted actually meant detain) _was Fang_.

The damn in my eyes spilled over and, for the second time today, I was crying uncontrollably.

I honestly hate the way things turn out in my life.

* * *

 _A/N2:_

 _Thanks for reading. Don't forget to review!_

 _~El_


	4. Chapter 3: Amore

_A/N:_

 _Hey!_

 _Many thanks to TheArrowess, LydsLife, BaconBabe77, Gazza, partial hope and the other unnamed guests who reviewed on the last chapter._

 _I'm not surprised to see that the MR community has dwindled in the way that it has (considering the last book) but I'm still upset about it. I left the fandom and came back mainly to get this idea (which I've had for years) out of my brain but its still sad to to see one of my favorite books from my childhood be reduced to such a small fanbase. I understand that all things have to come to an end but it's still saddening._

 _ANYWAY, ON WITH THE STORY._

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Amore**

Hamsmith and Brown were already belted into the car the next morning when I clambered into the backseat. Brown smiled and asked me how I slept. I told her that it was fine when, in actuality, it had been far from "fine".

I had spent most of the night crying like a three-year-old who had lost her mommy while shopping in Toys'r'Us. Overall, it was awful and I hadn't slept more than three hours. My left eye itched irritably and so did my temper when Brown made a few more attempts at conversion. Eventually, she gave up, realizing that I wouldn't provide her with more than one-word responses.

I gazed out of the window at the passing scenery while lost in my thoughts. I couldn't think of a way I could complete this mission without revealing my identity to the Flock. Which would go over just swimmingly! I mean, you disappear for three years and then suddenly turn up on their doorstep, acting like you didn't totally abandon them and they'll obviously be fine with it! Yep, the Flock is just going to accept I'm back, no questions asked. Then we'll all join hands and skip off beaming into the sunset!

At that thought, I am almost snorted out loud.

No, that was most certainly _not_ going to happen.

They'll slam the door in my face. They'll demand I leave and even if they don't they'll demand I tell them what happened, which is almost as impossible. Because truth is, what happened is almost as unexplainable as it is unbelievable.

I was stuck. I didn't know how to proceed. Then, Hamsmith, spinning around to face me from the front seat, asked me the one question I was dreading, "Where are we dropping you?"

I looked at him, taking in his shaven blonde hair and light, open eyes (which in no way reflected his personality) and attempted to formulate a reply. I came up blank. I simply didn't know how to respond. He waited and when I still didn't say anything raised an eyebrow, "….A hotel maybe?" He asked.

I looked back out the window. We were in the city now, passing buildings that were pressed closely together and high rises which grew out of the pavement like ginormous, chrome trees. The lights of the crossing ahead of us turned red and our car drew to a stop parallel to a small, red brick building, nestled among the modern city constructions. As I watched, two people in their mid-twenties came out of the restaurant, holding hands and laughing. They'd probably just finished a romantic lunch date and were heading somewhere to make out. The sign on the building above them read, "Amore." Which I knew meant "love" in Italian. Ugh, disgusting.

"Sargent Ride?" Hamsmith asked. I didn't answer him. Something stirred in my brain, wriggling around in my short term memory. I remembered hearing something about a restaurant in San Francisco called Amore. Where had I heard- no, _read_ that name before? I began searching my memory, shuffling through the information stored there. Hamsmith called my name once more, then, when I still didn't respond, Brown joined in, "Max?"

Suddenly, I remembered where I had heard it before.

I knew what my next move was.

The light turned green and the car shuddered forward. "Stop the car!" I yelled. I grabbed my duffle bag and opened the car door as we were still moving. The driver had slammed on the breaks and the car jolted to a stop. I started to climb out of the open door but Brown caught my arm, "What do you think you are doing?"

The car behind us honked, "I'm getting out! This is the perfect place to drop me!" Brown still looked skeptical (and like I had a few screws lose, which I probably did at this point) but dropped my hand anyway. I pulled out of the car completely and slammed the door closed. I put a hand up in apology to the car which had honked me and then sprinted across the road to avoid getting hit by traffic. I stopped in front of Amore, my bag slung across my back. I waved to Brown and Hamsmith who were staring back at me through the rear-view window of the sleek, black car which drove them away.

I took a deep breath in and pulled open the door to Amore, pushing inside.

I slurped up the last of my penne and put down my fork, contented. A waitress came over, seeing I was finished and asked how my meal was.

"Excellent." I said as she picked up my plate, "Complements to the chef."

The girl, whose name tag read Madeline, laughed, "I will pass that on! He'll be pleased."

For the next few seconds, I thought about what I was going to say next, then, right as Madeline was leaving, I asked, "Can you tell him I said something else?"

The waitress smiled and turned, "Sure! What is it?"

I glanced over to the kitchen, where there was a wide glass panel allowing diners to witness the preparation of their meals, "Tell him I said... that I haven't had pasta like that in years."

The girl nodded, her blond curls bobbing and shuffled off to dispose of my plate. I turned my gaze back over to the kitchen and watched a boy, with reddish blonde hair season a dish expertly. He placed the pepper grinder back in its exact place deftly and served up the meal, hitting the serving bell for a waitress to collect it through a little window. Madeline went to collect the meal and, as she did so, said something through the window to the chef. He grinned and laughed heartily. He said something to her in return which I couldn't make out over the general restaurant chatter and went on with the next order.

I continued to watch the chef's experienced movements until Madeline came back to my table, apron flapping. "The Chef said that he was glad to hear you liked it so much. Can I get you anything else?"

I shook my head, "Just the check, thanks." Again, just before Madeline headed off, I asked, "He's blind, isn't he?"

Madeline looked startled and asked how I guessed. I shrugged and she left to collect the bill, confused.

I paid in cash with money I had had a lower rank soldier withdraw for me from my bank account before leaving the base this morning and tipped Madeline generously. When she collected the bill, I asked her if I could just sit inside for a while and Madeline, pleased with the extra money, said of course.

"Is it hot outside today?" She asked curiously. I speculated that she probably thought I might be uncomfortably warm in my long skirt and skin color pantyhose (which I hadn't changed out of from yesterday) out in the San Francisco heat. I was about to reply affirmatively when I noticed the blonde haired chef taking off his apron.

"Actually, I will be going. Thanks for everything." I left, hurriedly abandoning my table and grabbing my bag. Madeline called goodbye after me but I was already pushing the front door open.

On the street, I looked around for an alleyway which may lead around the back of the restaurant. I caught sight of one, near a grouping of bins, and then of the blonde Chef leaving the alley, backpack slung over one shoulder casually. I followed him as he walked down the street, always a few paces behind. I pushed through the crowds of city workers on their lunch break to keep up with the boy and not lose him as he continued to walk briskly, one hand trailing across the building facades as he went. It was probably how he kept track of where he was considering he was blind. Occasionally, someone would bump into him, apologize and move on quickly. The people thinned eventually and I knew we were reaching the outskirts of the city district.

The sun, which had been blazing summer heat down upon the city, was covered by dark clouds unexpectedly. The city was plunged into relative darkness. Lightening flashed and thunder cracked overhead, but no rain fell, yet.

Soon, when there were no more people passing us and the streets had begun to look more run down, the boy stopped.

So did I.

There was silence.

After a few moments, he said, "I know you're there."

My blood froze. Tears threatened to fall from my eyes again and I mentally cursed. His voice was so familiar and I resisted the urge to hug him fiercely.

I didn't speak, breathing steadily and quietly in the hope that he'd think he'd been mistaken and just keep walking.

"I may be blind, but I'm not stupid." He turned around. Even in the limited light, I could make out his pale blue eyes. They bored a hole through my heart leaving me feeling hollow. He folded his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. "If you're going to _try_ and mug me, please _hurry up_. I have been working since 6 am and would really appreciate getting home and taking a nap."

That was my Iggy: wonderfully defiant.

I balled up all my courage and threw out the question I'd been dying to ask since I first saw "James Ride" working at Amore just as my brief had said he did, "Iggy?"

* * *

 _A/N2:_

 ** _What are your thoughts on the MR fandom shrinkage?_** _REVIEW AND TELL ME._

 _~El_


	5. Chapter 4: Diner Discussions

_A/N_

 _Hello! Are you guys impressed at the rate I'm updating this story? I can't really believe it myself considering I usually go months between chapters. Hopefully I'll be able to keep it up._

 _Thanks to everyone who reviewed and especially to those who shared their thoughts on the MR fandom shrinkage. Special thanks to Bloodlust003, DontCallMeMaxi, The Flower Bookworm, BaconBabe77, LydsLife, Gazza, TheArrowess, Chronicyouth2002, Iamthebestwriter, staphylococci and the few unnamed guests who shared their thoughts._

 _Now for anyone who is reading this having previously read one of my other stories **How to Seduce the Flock** I have a question: Should I finish it? Frankly, I think it's a really stupid story (kind of gross too) and my writing skills back then were nonexistent but I still get messages telling me to update. If that's what people want I will but I NEED TO KNOW WHAT PEOPLE WANT. I've always had an idea for the ending but it obviously hasn't panned out yet and I feel really guilty about leaving it the way it is. I was thinking of going through and fixing it up as well but I don't know. What should I do?_

 _Happy reading!_

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Diner Discussions**

 _"_ _Iggy?"_

It was a whisper, barely audible but he had heard it. I knew he had by the way every one of his muscles stiffened.

"May…" He tried, voice cracking. "Maybe. Who's asking?" He looked guarded and had pushed one leg back in what would appear like (to anyone else) nothing unusual but was really a fighting stance.

"Someone who hasn't had your p-pasta in a long time." My voice splintered. Damn. The heavens opened up and a few drops of water dripped down from the clouds onto my white shirt. I allowed a few tears to follow the rains example in sliding down my cheeks.

This was sooooo not going the way I'd hoped.

Iggy's crossed arms dropped to his side and his hands balled into fists. It was quiet for a few seconds, then, so quietly that if I didn't have genetically enhanced hearing I probably wouldn't have even have caught it, he said, "Come here."

Robotically, I shuffled closer. I begged my knees not give out and buckle as I did so. When I was within arm's reach, Iggy extended his hand and stroked his thumb down my cheek. I shivered involuntarily at his touch. His hand went on to search the rest of my face, cataloging every inch carefully. Eventually, his hand brushed over my hair which was pulled back into a ponytail.

I could see tears welling up in his sightless eyes. "….Max?" He asked.

I broke then. Crying softly, I nodded. He felt the movement, his hand still resting gently on my scalp.

It was silent except for my crying as Iggy processed what was happening.

I expected him to push me away. I expected him to turn and run. Or to slap me across the face. Or to yell obscenities at me. I expected all those responses.

I didn't expect him to pull me into a hug, bury his face in my shoulder and start to cry in time with my own sobs.

I grabbed him to me, as tightly as I could. I smelled his familiar scent and started to cry harder at the enormity of it all. Of all the feelings in the world, I doubted there was any more powerful than the emotion you feel when you hold brother to your chest after years of being unable to.

The rain came down harder and began to pelt us with heavy droplets but neither of us moved nor cared. I was happy to just hold him. Eventually, when I was sure my shirt was basically see through, we pulled apart.

"I can't believe it's you." He shook his head and grinned a classic Iggy grin. My heart soared happily to be able to witness it again. "I can't believe you're here."

"Neither can I."

"You have to come with me. You have to see the flock." It was silent, except for the rain pounding the pavement. "Max?"

"I don't think I can right now, Iggy." His face fell. "Can we go somewhere to talk?" He looked torn.

"I should tell them. It's not right not to tell them. They think you're dead, you know." The rain was so heavy now, he was basically yelling. "Fang…" My heart clenched. "Fang almost lost it without you… you…. Where have you _been_?"

"Let's go somewhere….. please, Iggy."

He looked reluctant but nodded. He turned slowly and indicated with his head for me to follow. I walked next to him, bumping his shoulder occasionally. The smile returned to his face as he bumped me back.

Iggy led me to diner about three blocks away. It's red and white façade screamed fifties design and, sure enough, it had a retro interior complete with checkered black and white floor tile.

Iggy and I were both drenched, our clothes sticking to our skin. When we finally squelched into a booth, I pulled my skirt away from knees, creating a suction cap sound that sounded suspiciously like something else.

"Gross, Max. We're in public." Iggy said smirking.

"Fuck off, it was my skirt."

"Suuuuure it was," Iggy chuckling. A second later he seemed to do a double take. He's mouth morphed into what I assumed was a perplexed expression. "Your _skirt_?"

I blushed. "Yes. My _skirt_. Got a problem with that, buddy?" I squinted my eyes at him.

Iggy held his hands up defensively, "No, no. It's just not something I can picture you wearing."

"Yeah, well, don't picture it. Okay?" He laughed again.

After Iggy's laughter subsided, silence descended thickly upon us. During the lapse in conversation, I checked to make sure my blouse wasn't see through after standing in the rain for so long and Iggy flicked the water out of his hair. Eventually, once we had both finished fiddling, Iggy asked the question I had been dreading. "What happened to you, Max?"

I sighed, "It's complicated."

Iggy stared in the direction of where he assumed my eyes were (he was slightly too far left) and waited for me to expand on my answer. When I didn't he said, "We thought you were dead."

The look of hurt that flashed across his face pierced me like a knife. "I'm sorry," Was all I could reply.

He shook his head, "Look, you don't have to tell _me_ right now but you do have to tell _us_ eventually."

"I know." I played with the peeling edge of the laminated menu which had been placed on the table by a candy striper style waitress. "I just don't know how to explain it all... Frankly, I'm... I'm scared." I admitted. I figured showing him some venerability may soften his resolve a little.

It did.

"I get it." He reached out and took my hand (in a brotherly way, you sickos). "Why don't you want to see them?"

I curled my fingers around Iggy's long ones gently, "I don't know….. I guess I don't want them to hate me."

"They won't. They'll be happy to see you." I said nothing. After a pause, Iggy said, "Let me call Fan –"

"No!" I interpreted. My heart rate had jack-knifed. The rush of blood to my head defend me briefly.

"Max…" Iggy started.

"No, Iggy! He hates me! How could he not hate me….? I hate me." I finished quietly.

"He really doesn't hate you. Not at all. Look, all he's really done for the last three years is mourn over you. He's going to be happy you're okay. I've got to call him, Max. If no one else, I've got to call him. He deserves to know." I pulled my hand out of his, angrily. Stupid Iggy. Pfffft, what would he know? "He still loves you, you know." He followed, very quietly.

I looked away from him, knowing that I might start to cry.

Well, okay, maybe he knows _some_ stuff…

Iggy got up, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket. I was secretly hoping that the rain had damaged it and that it didn't work anymore. I was very sorry to see my wish had been granted when the screen lit up. I glanced at my duffle bag, wondering if I should leave.

Before I could make up my mind, Iggy had placed his hand on my shoulder. "Stay, Max….. please." It was almost as if he had read my mind. As soon as I heard the open, helpless tone of voice he used, I knew I wasn't leaving. I couldn't leave him again. Maybe not ever. I let my head fall forwards to bang on the linoleum table. Iggy made no comment about the sound of skull on table but his hand left my shoulder and he walked across the diner to call Fan– HIM.

I closed my eyes and pretended that I couldn't hear the call tone of Iggy's phone half way across the diner even though I could make it out as clearly as if he was standing right next to me.

"Iggy?" A deep voice asked upon answering. My stomach turned over. He sounded older. Which, der Max, of course, he did; he _was_ older. He had grown up and I had missed it.

"Hey, man. I need you to get down to the diner on Elizabeth street, like right away."

I started to panic. I couldn't do this. I couldn't. I can't see him again, not like this.

"Can this wait? I'm sort of in the middle of someth-"

 _Look at what I'm wearing! He's going to ask questions! He's going to see straight through me like he always did before and I'll be trapped. What will I even say to him?! "Hey, Fang! Remember me, Max? We kinda-sorta had a thing until I left you. Yeah? That was me!" Ugh. Stupid!_

I began to bang my head on the table. I could feel the stares from people at other tables who had leaned over the top of their booths to see the source of the rattling cutlery (ie. _moi_ ).

"No," Iggy interrupted. " _This_ absolutely _cannot_ wait." He must have heard the seriousness in Iggy's tone of voice because he immediately replied he'd be there in ten.

TEN? As in ten minutes? That's it! Oh God, I really can't do this.

I moved so that my forehead rested against the table and I was looking into my lap. I started hyperventilating. It was too much. It was all happening too quickly. Seeing Iggy, talking to Iggy, _talking to HIM._ The room felt as though it was closing in. _I can't breathe!_ I thought. _There's no air in this room! Seriously, I'm going to pass out!_ _I'm suffocating. I'm going to suffoca-_

Someone placed something on the table in front me, making me jump and forget for a second that I was halving a panic attack. I glanced up. It was Iggy setting a pot of coffee down. Two mugs followed and a pitcher of milk.

"So, I guess you heard the that." I couldn't respond. Air didn't seem to be entering my lungs. I felt like I was drowning. "Breathe Max. It's going to be okay."

But I couldn't calm down and I wasn't sure it was going to be okay.

I stood up suddenly. I think I muttered to Iggy that I was going to be sick then I sprinted down the checkered hallway to the ladies room. When inside, I grabbed a hold of the sink counter and looked at myself. I was pale; very pale. My eyes were red and blotchy from crying. My shirt was still damp meaning that the crisp white it had been this morning was dulled but the embroidery on the pocket still flashed golden in the florescent lights. I wanted to rip those ugly words off! I hated this person that I'd become and I wished desperately (more desperately than I could possibly explain) that I could turn back time and change something, somehow so that I wasn't forced to leave them. I didn't want to be _Staff Sargent Maximum Ride_. I wanted to be _Max_ , plain and simple.

I gripped the counter harder to stop my hands from rising and tearing at my pocket. I could feel bruises blooming underneath the surface of my fingertips as a result of gripping too tightly but the pain my neurons were alerting me was there didn't seem to be fully registering in my brain. I tried taking deep breaths to calm down and feel again but I failed. My lungs continued to compress the little air inside them painfully. The shaking in my hands had spread and reverberated around to the other parts of my body unhindered despite my death grip on the countertop.

I could hardly concentrate on anything but I knew that I needed to calm down. I needed to face HIM….. _Fang_. I needed to face _Fang_. There, I had thought his name. That wasn't so hard.

 _I can do this._ I thought. _I've been all over the world. Faced people that would make even the toughest, most experienced army General cry. I am tough. I have always come out on top. I can do this._

I really could do this. After all, talking to Iggy hadn't been all that hard in the end.

This time when I breathed I felt the air inflate my lungs deeply and steady my following breaths. As it turned out, air could enter my lungs and I wasn't suffocating. The shaking which had had a firm hold over my senses began to subside. I released the counter having finally been able to feel the hurt gripping it so hard was causing. I looked at myself in the mirror again and saw that some of the color had returned to my cheeks.

I really could go out there and meet _Fang_. I could.

I quickly flattened my damp hair, washed my face one more time and then walked back out into the diner.

Iggy was sitting at the table like he had been when I had left, but now someone was sitting across from him.

A someone who had black hair.

A someone whose tan face was directed away from me.

A someone who was _Fang_.

* * *

 _A/N2_

 _WHOOO! That was a seriously emotionally charged chapter and now SHE'S ABOUT TO REUNITE WITH FANNNGGGYYY! Who's excited?! I hope I did Iggy's reaction justice, I know everyone was super excited for it. He's one of my favorite characters and I want to write more about him (give him the justice MR books 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9 didn't)._

 _Review and tell me any opinions you may have on How to Seduce the Flock._

 _OR_

 _Review and tell me what you think will happen next!_

 _~El_


	6. Chapter 5: Fangalicious

_Hi y'all! Sorry it's been a while. I constantly feel like uni is on top of me and I'm not on top of uni but oh well._

 _Thanks to every who reviewed on the last chapter including chronicyouth.2002, BaconBabe77, LydsLife, BeautifulSmilesTakeTime, Gazza, Bloodlust003 and all the other guest reviewers._

 _I've taken what everyone said about HTSTF under consideration but honestly haven't made up my mind yet. I'll keep everyone posted on my decision to continue the story or not. For the mean time, this is the only story I am writing for._

 _Happy reading!_

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Fangalicious**

I shuffled forward, cursing the stupid, goddamn army for forcing me into these stupid, goddamn shoes. With every step, my heels clicked on the floor agonisingly loud on the linoleum. Luckily, the man I was watching (probably more intently then I've ever watched any person before) didn't seem to hear the torturous sound and didn't turn around.

He was right there in front of me. I could reach out right now and touch him, if I wanted to. It would be a very weird thing to do, but it was _possible_. It hadn't been even possible for years and now, suddenly, it was.

"What's going on, Iggy?" Fang asked. God, his _voice_. It hit me like a punch to the gut. It was as if the rain clouds outside had cleared and birds were singing _because of that_ _voice_. I wasn't hearing it through a phone receiver, I was hearing it firsthand, only a foot away. It was making every cell in my body grow goose bumps and shiver.

"See for yourself." Iggy said and gestured toward me. In what appeared to be slow motion, Fang turned. His head looked over his shoulder and then his whole, suit and tie clad body swivelled around in the booth.

His dark eyes met mine and it immediately felt like I was falling through vortex created by his corneas into his very soul. I had seen those eyes recently on a print out, but surveillance cameras could never capture the deepness of them. It was like I was fourteen again, looking to him for reassurance as my second in command, my best friend, my biggest support. Those eyes had always told me what I needed to know. I had missed those eyes so, _so_ much.

His face, which had been impassive, morphed upon recognising me. He looked utterly shocked and confused and another emotion I couldn't quite place. His mouth formed my name and my mouth shaped his but neither of us produced any sound.

He stood abruptly, not moving his eyes away from mine. We were tethered together by our irises. He was in front of me then, olive skin rippling.

He was the same as he always had been, but not. He was taller. Much taller. He stood above me by at least a foot. He had a slight stubble line growing around his chin and neckline. He was…. He was _Fang_. Really and truly _Fang_ , in the flesh.

"Hi." I said lamely, still gazing up into his eyes.

"Hi." He said back, meeting my gaze with his own exactly. Very slowly, as though he thought that if he moved too quickly I'd ghost away, he brought his hand up to brush down my cheek. His touch was impossibly light, not like when Iggy had inspected my face earlier today. I hardly felt the warmth of his skin as his fingers left my face as quickly as they had come.

"You're here," He confirmed.

I could hardly breath. "I'm here."

"I'm… I'm not dreaming." My eyes filled with tears for what felt like the millionth freaking time today.

"No, Fang." His name felt right coming out of my mouth for the first time in forever, "You are most definitely not dreaming." A tear slid down my cheek but Fang's gentle fingers came up once again and caught it. The tear balanced on his thumb; a rotund, watery dome enlarging the pattern of his finger print. Time continued tick by impossibly slowly. "But if you are dreaming." The tear threatened to roll down of the tip of his thumb. We both watched it, mesmerised. "Then I don't ever want you to wake up." I finished. The tear slid down his thumb and disappeared into the crevasses of his skin.

Very suddenly, time sped up.

Before I could truly process what was happening, he had roughly grabbed my face in both of his hands, so opposite to how he had been treating me just seconds before, and _kissed me full on the mouth._

My head reeled uncomprehendingly.

 _Fang was kissing me_.

Somewhere in my seemingly paralysed body, a switch flicked on and I felt an insatiable urge to push him off me and run away like I had the last time he kissed me three years ago on the pier. I squashed that urge down as hard as I could. I was done with running away. I closed my eyes and let his bottom lip slip between the both of mine. My toes wriggled in my heels, but my legs didn't move to walk away from him. After all these years, after everything I've been through to be here, I would be damned if I didn't make that insatiable urge satible by standing here and kissing this goddamn bird boy back with everything I had.

My lips pressed back against his forcefully. I reached up to pull at the hair around the nape of his neck to draw his lips closer to mine. I honestly didn't care that we were pressed together in the middle of a 50's style retro diner with other couples watching us while sipping their coffee. I didn't give a flying fuck that Iggy (both Fang and I's kind-of brother) was sitting right there at the table, hearing every disturbing sound our mouths made as they clashed together.

I have had a hole in my chest for the last three years and I have been waiting for this boy to come back into my life and fill it. Nothing and nobody was going to take this moment away from me.

I twisted my head to the right to get closer to him. He copied my movement and we were as close as we possibly could be. Lightly, he caught my bottom lip between his teeth and bit down. I felt like screaming.

When he released my lip, my head fell back, my eyes still closed. I was breathing heavily. By the feeling of Fang's chest, still pressed against mine, he too was out of breath.

"Well," Iggy said, sipping his coffee noisily. "That was intense."

I opened my eyes and slowly hauled my head back on top of my shoulders. Fang was staring at me, a corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. I leant my forehead against his. "Yeah. It was." I breathed, my words fanning out across his face coolly.

"So, are you two done now or should I rent you a room at the hotel next door?" I coughed awkwardly and released Fang's hair which I hadn't realised I was still grasping.

"Nah, we're cool." I pushed around Fang and slid into the booth opposite Iggy. He slid in next to me and took my hand underneath the table, squeezing it reassuringly.

"See, Max!" Iggy said, stupidly grinning that Iggy grin again, "He doesn't hate you."

I felt like face palming. Jesus, he could have _not_ said that.

I couldn't stop worry from bubbling up in my chest, looking over at Fang again, I asked, "You don't hate me… Do you?" I could almost feel Iggy rolling his eyes from across the table.

Fang looked back at me evenly, "Not at all." He cocked one dark eyebrow, "Do you want me to?"

I shook my head so violently the bobby pins holding my ponytail stiffly in place moved, "No. Please, please don't ever hate me."

Fang chuckled a very small Fang-like chuckle. "I couldn't even if I wanted to." I smiled back at him feeling like a case of butterflies had burst open inside of me and were now flying freely around my stomach.

"Great! Now that that's out of the way, where do we go from here?" Iggy downed the last of his coffee and slammed the mug down on the table.

I was silent. Where _did_ we go from here?

"Well," Fang said finally. "How about we order something to eat?"

"Ughhhh," I groaned, breathing in the deliciously, filthy smell of bacon grease. "Iggy, no offense, but this burger is kicking your pasta's butt right now." I had detached my hand from Fang's in order to pick up my cheeseburger with both hands. I compensated by sitting so close next to him, I was practically in his lap.

"None taken, this place is awesome." He mumbled, spitting out pieces of ground beef from between his teeth as he spoke.

"Mrrm hhhmm mr mrrrmmm mhhrmm?" Fang moaned around a bite of his own burger and looking over at me.

Iggy stared at him uncomprehendingly, "I'm sorry, I don't speak idiot. What were you trying to say?"

Fang gulped down his food and glared at Iggy. I laughed. At least he hadn't tried speaking with his mouth was so full. The length with which Iggy's could spit food from his mouth while speaking had been a completely disturbing albeit impressive display that I prayed never to witness again.

"I said, you went to his restaurant?"

I was about to answer but Iggy beat me to it, "Yes, she did. She ordered the penne with extra _extra_ parmesan. I honestly should have guessed it was Max. Only weirdos put that much cheese on top of a culinary masterpiece." He sighed dramatically, "And then she proceeded to stalk me down the street. Hmmmm. Good times." Iggy finished reminiscently as though it had occurred a decade ago and not only a few hours previous.

My mouth dropped open, "I'm not a weirdo, I just happen to like cheese! And I did _not_ stalk you!"

"Oh yeah? If it wasn't stalking, what was it?"

"…Look, I wasn't _stalking_ you. Okay?"

Fang looked bemusedly at Iggy as he cackled. We descended into relative quiet while we finished eating, the only sounds being Iggy's snorts as he wolfed down his second burger in two bites.

When I finally sat back, full to bursting with fries and other greasy delights, I put my hands atop my stomach (which appeared to be budging) and grinned. "This is honestly the happiest I've been in years."

Everyone seemed to freeze.

I cursed myself. I couldn't have just enjoyed the moment, could I?

"Max…." Fang started. I could feel the question poised at the tip of tongue; _Max, what happened?_

Instead, he yelled, "DUCK!"

"Huh?" I asked but was drowned out by a loud, creaking, cracking sound. I dropped to the floor beneath the table just in time as a second bullet whizzed through the air and struck the window left of us causing it to shatter horrifically.

* * *

 _I'm just happy Fangy's back ;)_

 _ **REVIEW AND TELL ME WHAT YOUR FAVORITE SERIES IS AT THE MOMENT (TV, BOOK, ECT.)!** I'm currently loving Voltron and Haikyuu! _

_~El_


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